Allegiances
by slythatheart
Summary: David is an Assassin. Sebastian is a Templar. Their paths cross regularly, yet for some reason both survive the encounters. For Smythofsky Week (Day 2 - Historical AU); set between 1779 and 1784. Crossover putting the boys in the Assassin's Creed universe, circa the end of Assassin's Creed III. Game spoilers. Game characters mentioned but not involved in the story directly.


**Notes:** This was written for Smythofsky Week (Day 2 - Historical AU), and is set between 1779 and 1784. It is also a crossover, as I have put the boys in the Assassin's Creed universe, circa the end of Assassin's Creed III. There are some spoilers for the game.

For anyone who hasn't played any of the Assassin's Creed games or read the books, let me give you some important information in case it's not clear in the story. There are two groups secretly fighting each other. They are both striving toward a peaceful society. The Templars believe that to create "utopia" they must gain power and control over the people, whereas the Assassins believe that the people should keep their freedom and that peace can be established via education.

I love Assassin's Creed in ridiculous amounts, so I hope I haven't failed here...and hopefully even if you don't know anything about the games you can still enjoy this! Big thanks to Danielle for the beta-reading.

Also, the constant capitalization of Assassin is not a mistake. It is a title belonging to those in the Order of Assassins, not just a description.

* * *

**Allegiances**

_Boston, September 1779_

The man was burly and broad; far broader than Sebastian had expected of an Assassin. In fact, though his face was hidden, he looked nothing like Sebastian had pictured an Assassin to look. He'd heard stories of their abilities, had expected them all to be lithe and chiseled, like Sebastian himself. Instead the man looked more like a brawler, stocky and full-shouldered, filled with power and strength.

If Sebastian hadn't spent his life observing others carefully, he'd never have spotted the smooth way the stranger had pick-pocketed documents from William – his father's Boston contact – and he'd never have suspected a thing. William certainly hadn't.

Those documents contained sensitive Templar information. Sebastian didn't know the details, but he had seen his father delivering them to William that very morning.

Sebastian had two choices – he could cause a scene and alert the older Templar, or he could get the papers back himself; proving that he was ready to be more than just another hand on board the Providence. Sebastian was supposed to be a Templar like his father, Captain Samuel Smythe, not the Captain's second mate in name while deck hand and messenger in nature. He was nineteen years old, a grown man, not a child any longer. He knew that if he was given the chance to actually do something for the cause he would show himself worthy.

Before he'd come to a conscious decision, Sebastian was following the stranger at a near but respectable distance, quick footed yet discreet. If there was one thing Sebastian could call himself after being raised on a ship, it was nimble.

He turned the same corner he'd seen the Assassin take mere seconds before. He caught only a glimpse of the man at the other end of the laneway before he vanished from sight again. Sebastian hurried along the long, narrow alley and found himself in a large, empty courtyard. There was only one other exit, an alley in the farthest corner from Sebastian, but that was at much too great a distance for the other man to have disappeared into it so quickly.

There was a large tree several yards away. It had a thick trunk; thick enough, perhaps, to shield a man from view. Sebastian glanced around but found no other hiding places. He crept as quietly as he could, pulling the flintlock pistol from his baldric and peering around the tree.

Nothing.

Sebastian had only a moment's warning; the slight rustle of leaves where there was no wind. He moved quickly, darting to the side fast enough to avoid being pulled into the Assassin's grip, but not fast enough to keep his pistol from being knocked to the ground.

"Who are you? Why are you following me?"

Drawing his sword, Sebastian sized up his opponent. The Assassin was younger than he'd assumed – perhaps no older than Sebastian himself – and far more graceful than he'd seemed in the street. He must have been playing on his appearance; keeping up the façade, Sebastian realized. He felt a stirring of respect for the man. In the few seconds he'd been out of Sebastian's sight, he had scaled a large tree and concealed himself within its branches. He'd stayed still enough to remain unnoticed, even with his considerable bulk, until he was ready to attack.

Against his better judgment, Sebastian found himself admiring the Assassin. His actions and ability were impressive, the defensive stance he'd dropped into looked well-practiced, and with his hood having fallen back onto his shoulders, Sebastian could see he was also surprisingly good-looking.

"Scared, Assassin?" he taunted, trying to regain control of the situation and ignore the unwelcome thought. He refused to read anything into the way the Assassin's eyes were traveling over him. The other man had to be calculating his odds, just as Sebastian had been.

Understanding dawned on the larger man's face. With a flick of his left hand, a shiny blade slid into view from his wrist as he drew his sword with his right. "You're a Templar."

Sebastian grinned, shifting his weight to attack. Before he had the chance, the sound of a patrol echoed from the alley nearest them. Boston was still somewhat unstable, patrols were frequent and the guards were intolerant of any potential threats. Sebastian couldn't afford to be arrested, and from the look on the Assassin's face, neither could he.

Faster than Sebastian could have imagined, the other man sheathed his sword and bounded up into the tree, moving quickly along a thick branch to leap a startling distance onto a rooftop to Sebastian's right. Sebastian also sheathed his sword, trying not to feel so awed by such speed and agility in a large and well-muscled man. He snatched up his pistol and rushed towards the far alleyway to escape, pausing just long enough to glance back and catch the Assassin staring at him from his perch.

When the other man broke eye contact to look sharply – almost in warning, it seemed – towards the passageway from which the patrol was growing louder, Sebastian remembered himself. He was forced to dart away from the courtyard, from the approaching guards who would spot him soon enough, and from the Assassin. He forgot all about the documents that had been taken; they hadn't been his to protect and deliver. Instead, he spent several days contemplating the skilled and handsome stranger, wondering all the while if their paths would cross again.

* * *

_Boston, November 1780 _

David peeked around the edge of the courthouse tower, keeping watch from his position atop the roof. There was a throng of people in the street below, and although he was too far to see faces, he knew his target was one of them.

He focused his mind, letting the distractions fall away until his eyes achieved heightened perception and the world took a dark shadowed hue. He could see the white-blue shapes of the innocent citizens interspersed with the occasional red glow of a potential danger. He ignored them, concentrating instead on the glowing gold figure moving among them. Sebastian was already halfway to his meeting place; David needed to intercept him soon, somewhere hidden from onlookers.

Running rapidly, he leaped across rooftops and tree branches, signposts and balconies. He followed his glowing target on fast but sure feet, until he saw his opportune moment. David glanced around quickly to ensure they wouldn't be seen, then let his enhanced vision fall away. The cemetery and its surroundings were deserted, so with a burst of speed he pounced, tackling Sebastian into the pile of leaves by the churchyard's entrance. It would conceal them from immediate view if anybody wandered by.

When Sebastian was under him, David straddled his hips. He released his wrist blade and pressed it to Sebastian's throat as their eyes met. Sebastian snorted; David felt some of Sebastian's tension slip away.

"Oh, it's only you, _David_."

David blinked in surprise. "So, you finally know my name? After more than a year of these confrontations?"

"Well, you have not been particularly forthcoming. Your manners leave much to be desired, Assassin."

"Yet I knew your name within days of our first meeting, did I not, Sebastian?" David smirked.

"That's hardly an accomplishment. My father captains the Providence, discovering my name would have been simple. Now, unless you plan on killing me, let me up." Sebastian moved to push David aside, but David held tighter, pushed his blade closer to Sebastian's skin until the Templar tensed again. "So, you _do_ plan to kill me, then? Has our cat and mouse game reached its end?"

"I _should_ kill you; it would certainly save me a world of trouble," David admitted, dragging the tip of his blade across the pale column of Sebastian's neck, "but, no. You need not die today."

"Then release me."

"Eventually. Once the time for your _secret_ meeting with Lee's messenger has come and gone; once it will be too late for your information to be useful." Sebastian began to struggle once more, but David stopped him with a shallow scratch of his blade. "I said you need not die, not that you will not if you fight."

Sebastian glared at him, but stilled. He looked furious, pressed firmly into a bed of leaves and twigs, some of which had tangled in his mussed hair. His cheeks were flushed with anger and his eyes were sharp as daggers. David grinned at the sight.

"You should get comfortable, Smythe," David said as he settled his weight more evenly across the other man, shifting his blade until it rested easily, yet threateningly, by Sebastian's pulse point. "We are going to be here for some time."

* * *

_Boston, February 1782_

"My, what a fancy new hat you are wearing." David grinned and nodded towards Sebastian's trifold, although he was in no position to be mocking anyone.

Sebastian laughed. He always did when David attempted to use snide remarks against him; Sebastian was an expert at such things and they held little offence for him. He pushed the barrel of his pistol deeper into the soft skin under David's chin in warning, despite his amusement. "Yes, well. I'm a Captain of my own ship, now."

David swallowed; Sebastian could see the tightening around his Adam's apple. "And did that title gift you with some interesting new abilities? You have clearly learned some new tricks."

"I must have been watching you closer than you realized, Assassin. And now I'm using your moves against you."

"That you are. I've underestimated you, Sebastian. It won't happen again."

"I know it won't," Sebastian agreed, running his free hand down the front of David's jacket and slipping it inside.

"You seem so certain. So have you finally had enough? Should I bid you one last farewell?" David questioned softly, eyebrow raised. He didn't look particularly nervous, though perhaps he was hiding it.

"And rid myself of these entertaining trysts? No, every good Captain needs a steady challenge. I merely meant you learn from your mistakes. You'll live to see another day, David, unless you force my hand." Sebastian's fingers trailed along the thin layer of fabric covering David's ribcage. When he found what he was searching for he gripped the papers and pulled them out of David's clothing. "I daren't say the same for all of your Assassin comrades, on the other hand. I do believe this information will be useful."

"Why do you continue to spare me?"

The question was unexpected and Sebastian hesitated, uncertain of his response. "I have no answer for you, Assassin," he whispered. "Why do _you_ continue to spare _me_?"

David's eyes met his in the dim light, but he did not reply. Sebastian couldn't help but notice that the flame from the wall lantern cast fascinating shadows across David's face.

Footsteps echoed; someone was moving quickly toward them. Sebastian knew David had traveled alone and very few were aware of these underground tunnels. It had to be one of Sebastian's own men.

"You _must_ stay down," he breathed, voice low and urgent, "or I will have no choice in the matter." He gripped his weapon tightly and moved back a step. Just as his first mate, Robert, came into view Sebastian pistol-whipped David hard across the jaw. Sebastian ground his teeth, deliberately not thinking about the force of the impact, and curled his fingers harder at the dull thud of David landing hard.

"Captain Smythe! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Robert. I have what I need, now."

"What about…" Robert gestured toward the shadows, where Sebastian could only barely see David's thankfully unmoving form slumped on the ground.

"It doesn't matter, leave him. He won't be following us."

* * *

_New York, July 1783_

The sound of steel on steel rang in David's ears. He almost had Sebastian vulnerable – over the years the Templar had become far more skilled, but so had David. He spotted his opening; Sebastian had left himself exposed on one side. Just as David moved to take advantage, his world went dark.

When he came back to himself David was in a sitting position, leaning heavily against something behind him. His head throbbed, he couldn't move, and the sharp edge of sunlight hurt his eyes. He squinted against the brightness, struggling against whatever was binding him. The weight of his hidden blade was missing from his wrist, so he couldn't cut himself free.

"I'd not bother, if I were you," came Sebastian's amused voice. "I am quite talented with rope."

"And what does that say about you?" David asked croakily as his eyes finally adjusted. His weapons were piled near Sebastian's feet. Sebastian was leaning cockily against a large wooden crate, flicking through some familiar papers. Important papers. They were no longer near the dock that David had been crossing when Sebastian attacked him; instead they were in what appeared to be a quiet storage area. "Give those back to me, Sebastian."

Sebastian shot him an arrogant grin. "Oh, I think not. There's quite a lot of money here, David. Certainly enough to benefit the Templars. Where did you get so many depreciation notes? Are you secretly a soldier, Assassin?"

"Why feign surprise that I am carrying them? I know you were sent to procure them...how else would you know I was in New York?" David frowned. "I had the better of you in that fight. What happened?"

This time, Sebastian's smirk looked deeply amused. "You don't spend enough time on docks, clearly. A crate fell on your head. Luckily, it was not so heavy as to cause any permanent damage."

"I don't believe you." David's words were untrue; now that Sebastian had told him, David could see the splintered wood shards that clung to his clothing. Embarrassment washed over him; he'd let himself focus too much on Sebastian and not enough on his surroundings. The dock workers were careless, their ropes and pulleys were poorly maintained, and people were injured often. He should have known better. And Sebastian had grown up on a ship and at docks; he'd never have made such a mistake. David would not be surprised if he'd chosen to attack at a dock to give himself that advantage.

"Of course you believe me; you can see the truth before you. I _would_ comfort you that it happens to the best of us," Sebastian chuckled, "but I, myself, have never been injured by falling silks, so that would be a lie. On the other hand, those fabrics were some of the finest shipped in from the Orient, so at least you were felled by quality goods."

"Just give me the notes, Sebastian."

"You know I cannot do that. I will transport them to my contacts, and eventually they will be used by my superiors to further our cause."

David scoffed. "They will be taken by your superiors and used to fund their corruption and greed, if you are truthful."

Sebastian tensed, tucking the notes viciously into his jacket. When he spoke, his words were sharp and quick. "The Templars only want to establish peace. These funds will help us achieve that goal."

He had crossed a line with Sebastian, somehow. David was surprised by it; he'd made similar accusations in the past with no such response. Perhaps Sebastian had finally seen evidence of the corruption he had always denied in the past.

"Release me, Sebastian." He paused, feeling strangely unsettled by the knowledge that Sebastian was truly upset with him. David needed to fix it, somehow, though he wouldn't name why. He needed to lighten the tension between them, so he plastered on his most innocent look and tried to speak as Sebastian would. "Unless…you have other reasons for keeping me restrained?"

The laugh he received in response was so abrupt that Sebastian looked startled at himself. Sebastian blinked; curling his lip in a way that left David more comfortable; that let him know his comments on the Templar corruption had left no permanent hurt.

David resolutely did not examine why he cared.

"Well, you _are_ terribly strong, David," Sebastian countered, crossing the distance between them. His tongue darted out to wet his lips – David could not explain what made him notice. "Imagine my humiliation if I released you, only for you to overpower me."

Sebastian's eyes went dark. He leaned forward, licking his lips again, and once more David felt unsettled. They'd never put any real voice to the connection between them and it felt strange to do so now.

"Besides," Sebastian continued, taking a suggestive tone, "I have no doubt you shall manage your own release, soon enough."

He was close enough, then, that David could feel the breath from Sebastian's words. David was so shocked, so unnerved by the blatant double entendre that he found himself unable to struggle. Sebastian was clever with words and had dropped veiled hints in the past but had never spoken quite so boldly. David was still and silent, even when Sebastian moved over him, straddling his legs and tugging carefully at the fingers of his right hand.

"I think I shall keep this. It makes for quite the trophy." Sebastian held up his prize; a solid gold ring bearing the Assassins' seal. It had been a gift from David's father on his twenty-first birthday.

Without another word, Sebastian sprang from his position on David's lap. He removed his trifold hat and held it in front of him, presenting David with a derisive bastardization of a formal bow.

"Until next time, my Assassin."

* * *

_Open Ocean, August 1783_

Sebastian tried to struggle again, but it was no use. He couldn't get free, and even if he could, he'd only hurt himself by landing on his head. His hands were tied behind his back and he was hanging by his ankles from his own rigging. It was humiliating, to say the least.

The worst part was that he hadn't even had the chance to fight back. When he'd heard the commotion of his ship being boarded in the middle of the night, he'd rushed above deck from his quarters only to be felled by ropes that had been left carelessly atop the stairs. If it hadn't been for the dark of night and his own distraction, Sebastian would never have tripped on the mess, but he'd berated his lazy crew several times in the past for such dangerous actions. He hoped they enjoyed being tied up and held in the galley by the Assassins; they certainly deserved it.

And if he got his hands on the pathetic waste of space that must have fallen asleep in the crow's nest while on watch, the soon to be _ex-_crewmember would regret it deeply.

"Is something wrong, Sebastian? Do you not enjoy being held at my mercy?"

The words sounded provocative – unless Sebastian was only imagining them as such. But no, David was leering in a way that seemed far more suited to Sebastian's own face than the face of the Assassin he'd come to know. David seemed confident and cocky, and dare Sebastian think it – inviting? Perhaps he was extracting payback for Sebastian's suggestive behavior when they had last met; if so, it was certainly effective. Sebastian wanted to say something, but for once his words failed him.

"It is possible? Have I shocked you into silence?" David sounded amused, before his voice took on a deeper tone. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd need to take _other _measures to quell your tongue."

Sebastian floundered for a moment, eyes wide. David had always seemed pure; incorruptible. Oh, he'd made the odd inference that left Sebastian smirking, but he'd never been outright indecent before. It left a stirring low in Sebastian's stomach; one he'd long since associated with the Assassin when alone in his bunk at night, though he relegated the notion to the far corners of his mind in the light of day. He was a Templar and a sailor; David was an Assassin. There was no hope for them.

And yet, even when appearing to Sebastian upside down David was startlingly attractive.

Sebastian pushed the thoughts back where they belonged – far, far away. He'd simply gone too far with his own comments at their last confrontation. He'd seen the shock on David's face, and now the Assassin was playing with him. That was fine; Sebastian was good at games.

"Oh my, I _am_ impressed, Assassin. I never expected such lewdness from your mouth. Perhaps I have had some terrible influence on you." He batted his eyelashes mockingly and tried to lick his lips, but his tongue and throat were parched.

"Perhaps you have," David admitted. Sebastian didn't flinch when David's hand cupped the back of his head, but it was a near thing. "And perhaps I have influenced you, in turn. You have hardly put your best effort into evading me and hurrying these notes to your superiors. If you had, I am not certain I would have my hands back on these funds."

David stepped away and gestured to the depreciation notes tucked into his belt. Sebastian refused to admit to any wrong-doing. It was possible he had taken longer than normal to set his ship to sail, however his crew had simply not had enough time at port. And perhaps he had chosen a less confusing and evasive route than he would have if he'd been attempting to hide from pursuers, but…

"I had no reason to expect you would follow us on the waters," he offered, though it sounded weak even to his own ears.

"Are you certain?" David sounded indulging. "Because I believe that you took my ring, the one item I would not abide being parted with, to motivate me to give chase. Am I wrong, Templar?"

The thick band of the ring was missing from Sebastian's finger. He'd worn it since the moment he'd pilfered it only two weeks prior; turned to face into his palm so that none of his crew would question the Assassins' emblem that decorated it. His finger felt oddly bare. Sebastian had taken the ring in a moment of whimsy, but David's words rang true. "Why would I do such a thing?"

"Why, indeed?"

Although it was a question, it was spoken in such a way that invited no answer from Sebastian. David was standing right before him, scant inches away once more. Their heads were nearly level and Sebastian didn't think he was imagining the way David seemed to be edging closer.

When he was so close that Sebastian could no longer focus his eyes and had to close them, David spoke softly, breathily. "If you want to wear my ring, Sebastian, there are friendlier ways to go about it."

Sebastian could feel the heat of David's words against his mouth, and he knew if David moved ever so slightly, he could press their lips together. Sebastian didn't think it was the inverted angle causing him to feel lightheaded. He felt David's sigh rather than heard it, and he let his lips part in anticipation.

"Mister Karofsky." Sebastian was startled by the distant voice and the way David's warmth disappeared suddenly. He refused to feel disappointed. "The crew are all fully secure. No one will be getting out of that in a hurry."

When Sebastian opened his eyes, he saw a man he didn't recognize walking toward them. He scowled at the way the stranger grinned in amusement at his position. Still, it could have been worse. Judging by his expression, he'd seen nothing he felt the need to question.

"Tied up and dangling like the rubbish? Well, that _is_ a fitting way to hold a Templar," the other man jibed, clapping his hand on David's shoulder.

It was obvious to Sebastian that David appreciated neither the comment nor the personal contact, but the stranger didn't appear to notice.

"You'll learn, Crawford, that some Templars are more skilled than others. A simple rope won't always do."

"This one _does_ look crafty," the other man – Crawford, apparently – agreed. "Maybe we should kill him? We mustn't make things too easy for them…we won't get so much as an hour head-start if they free themselves fast enough."

"No need to take an unnecessary life – we only require a few hours, not a bloodbath."

The apologetic look that David flashed Sebastian disappeared quickly, but the sincerity was clear. It was the only warning he received before David's meaty fist flew at his face and Sebastian's world went black.

* * *

_New York, April 1784_

David stared at the man sprawled on the ground before him. There had been a scuffle, of course; the work table had ended up on its side in one corner, its chair overturned and the paperweight and forms it once held scattered along the wooden planks of the dock. Had there been any wind the information on those papers would have been carried to the seas, but the night was still. They were in a worker's nook, well lit by oil lamps, though hidden from prying eyes by the surrounding windbreak, crates and supplies. Not that it would have mattered had they been out in the open; it was late enough that the area was long since abandoned, save for the odd too-drunken sailor. Even Sebastian's men were well out of any useful range to him – either chasing skirts and ale in one of the nearby taverns or sleeping soundly in the ship's quarters.

Sebastian's chest was rising and falling under the weight of David's foot. The pendant nestled on the Templar's jacket was dirty, but drew David's attention in the flickering light as though it were shiny and new. The Templar cross – the emblem of those who would seek to enslave the people they claimed to fight for – was normally hidden beneath Sebastian's clothes. Not that it mattered – his allegiance had never been a secret.

It shouldn't hurt David to see that cross. There was no words of loyalty between them; they had never been anything but enemies – direct rivals in the war between the Assassins and the Templars. But David had never been able to deny, at least not to himself, that if Sebastian had been anyone but a Templar...

…well. There was something there, between them. It was unspoken, but nevertheless powerful.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand, Smythe. Why should I spare the life of a Templar?" He didn't say 'again'. They both knew how many times each had walked away, leaving the other breathing when they should have dealt the killing blow.

"Don't be ridiculous. You could never kill me, any more than I could kill you." Sebastian's voice was low and calm. Far too calm for a man with the tip of a sword pressing at the soft, smooth skin of his throat.

David snorted, catching the long leather cord from Sebastian's neck on his blade. He drew it up to full length, until both men could see the symbol clearly. He watched carefully as Sebastian's eyes fell upon the cross. Shame spread across his face for a brief moment before he schooled his features into a blank mask, but David caught it all.

"Why are you a Templar, Sebastian?"

"The cause is just." The words were automatic; quick and steady, and sincere enough to be believed if David didn't already know better.

"Don't—don't lie to me," he replied, holding back the urge to beg, but only barely. "_Please_. This is – I need to know. You cannot tell me that you still believe in what the Templars are doing. I know you do not; I've seen it in your eyes. You fight for them, but you know they are wrong!"

Sebastian's eyes met David's, finally. "Just because their path is questionable," he said, unhooking his pendant from David's sword as he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, "does _not_ mean that their destination is wrong. You should know, David. Our goal is the same as yours. We strive to bring the world peace."

The sword in David's hand lowered. He was in no immediate danger of attack from Sebastian, he knew. "No. The ends do not always justify the means! Controlling the people won't give them peace – that is nothing but a lie your masters tell you, so that they may gain more power. I know you know this, and I know you are a better man than they are."

"A better man? What do you know about me? Only the fact that I've tried to kill you, time and again!"

"I know that you are right; I wouldn't kill you. And I know that goes both ways. You could never kill me, any more than I could kill you. Those were _your_ words. And you have proven them true with your actions, time and again. Five years we have been playing this game." David hesitated over his next words, but knew they couldn't continue as they were forever – one of them would need to kill the other, or allow the other to be killed, if nothing changed. "Tell me…tell me you feel nothing of what I feel. Tell me that this…this _thing_…between us is only my imagination, and I will walk away and we need never speak of it again."

"It…there is nothing. I feel nothing."

It was the worst attempt at deception David had ever seen. He knew Sebastian was capable of better. The look on Sebastian's face said the same.

"Liar," David whispered, holding his hand out.

Sebastian took it, though when he pulled himself to his feet he did so angrily, roughly.

"Alright, fine. I feel it as well. You know I do! But what do you expect of me?" he demanded, brushing himself off violently and retrieving his sword from where it had landed several feet away. "Do you think we can sail happily into the sunset and forget the cause we have committed ourselves to? What impossible fantasies have you come up with? Do you believe either of us could live our lives away from the fight, knowing what we know and having seen what we have seen? Are you really so naïve?"

"Of course not. But neither am I so blind as to miss the obvious solution. You are fighting for peace, just as I am! So fight beside me instead of against me. Help us educate the people instead of striving to control them; leave the Templars and join the Assassins."

For a moment Sebastian looked joyful – but only for a moment. The reality of their situation hit him visibly; his shoulders fell and he shook his head. "You say that as though it is a simple thing."

"Because it _is_. Maybe not an easy thing, no. But simple? Yes."

David's heart was thumping in his chest as he sheathed his sword in a measure of trust. He could see the consideration on Sebastian's face, warring with resignation. Sebastian was _thinking_ about it. Suddenly, David's entire life served no purpose to him beyond paving the way to that very moment. There was no war, no Templars, no Assassins; only David and Sebastian, and the possibility of Sebastian joining him. Choosing him.

He stepped forward and offered his hand once again, letting it hover between them. Sebastian stared at it for a moment, wistful. David saw Sebastian's fingers twitch, saw his empty hand shift forward an inch before the Templar hesitated, eyebrows drawing together in regret.

"I…I cannot."

Sebastian's hand curled into a fist and his head dropped. Despite his refusal, Sebastian made no move to raise his sword. His expression was hidden, but David didn't need to see it to know Sebastian was devastated by his own words. David moved closer, drawing his fingers down Sebastian's cuff and across his fist, unfurling the tightly clenched fingers until he could lace them together with his own. "I believe you can, actually. More importantly," he added, using his free hand to tip Sebastian's chin up until heartbroken green eyes met his, "I believe you want to."

"I do," Sebastian breathed, so low he was nearly inaudible. He swayed forward ever so slightly, as though drawn towards David by some in invisible force, before he straightened his stance and cleared his throat. "But I am my father's son," he continued more clearly. "I walk in his steps. He was a Templar and a sailor; Captain of the Providence. And yes, for many years he cared more about his money and cargo than about the cause, but he still believed, still taught me to believe. He may never have risen to the higher ranks of the Templar Order, but he helped the Templars spread to the Americas! It was with his help – _on_ _his ship_ – that Grand Master Haytham Kenway, the man who established Colonial Templars, even _reached_ the Colonies. What kind of a son would I be if I spat on that legacy?"

Despite his words, Sebastian was gripping David's hand desperately, clutching tightly as though he was hoping for David to save him. Maybe he was.

Although he tried to understand Sebastian's worries, David had never felt the same kind of entrapment. He, too, had followed his father's footsteps; but it had been a choice born of his own beliefs and principles, not out of a sense of obligation and against his own conscience.

He stroked his thumb along the skin of Sebastian's hand and when he spoke, he chose his words carefully.

"Haytham Kenway is dead. The tide has turned, and the Templars no longer hold unchallenged control of the Colonies; the Assassins grow stronger in number and conviction every day. All this was at the hand of _Haytham's _son. You ask what kind of son you would be, to follow your own heart instead of your father's wishes? You would be the kind of son who knows what is right. Your father's legacy is his own, not yours." He waited for some response from Sebastian, some sign his words were being taken in. Sebastian took a breath as though to speak, but said nothing. David cupped the back of Sebastian's neck, pulling him close until their foreheads were pressed together and David could feel Sebastian's shallow breaths across his lips. "You are the one who will need to live with the choices you make. When you take your final breath, can you feel right and just if you continue on this path? Will you feel complete, without regret, if you stay your course?"

A clatter sounded as Sebastian's sword fell from his hand. David could still hear the noise in his ears when he felt Sebastian's fingers pull at his wrist. Before he knew what was happening, Sebastian had triggered David's hidden blade. It had sprung from the sheath on David's wrist with a soft _snick _and he was gripping David's hand, pressing the sharp point of the metal against his own throat. David tried to pull his arm away, desperately afraid of slicing into Sebastian's neck and watching the light dim from his eyes, but Sebastian's determination made him strong.

"If I leave the Templars, it would be kinder if you kill me now. I'd sooner die by your hand, in your arms and knowing you were with me at the end, than cold and abandoned, with no one by my side. If I left the Templars, I'd have nothing; be nobody. My family would disown me at best, and hunt me at worst. I'd be utterly alone."

David could feel himself shaking – he was terrified Sebastian would lean forward another inch and take his own life on David's blade. The idea of Sebastian's blood on his hands, even against his will, made his stomach churn. Sebastian's words hung between them, and his eyes were wet and desolate, miserable, as though he felt he had already lost everything.

"No," David croaked. His fingers, still twined with Sebastian's, squeezed tightly until he was sure his knuckles were white with effort. "_No_. Fighting against your own beliefs and hating yourself for what you are doing – _this _is where you are alone. I swear to you, Sebastian, stand beside me and I will never let you be alone again. If you want me – if you choose me – you will always, _always_ have me."

After what felt like an age, Sebastian shifted away from the blade. David barely had time to feel the relief rush through him when suddenly and swiftly, before he could react, his arm was pulled roughly to pass across Sebastian's neck. Horror flooded through him and his lips parted, ready to cry out, but there was no wound visible. The familiar sound of blood gurgling in a slit throat was absent, replaced only with the dull thud of something landing on the planks under them.

Sebastian blinked at him, wordlessly, glancing at their feet. David let his gaze follow, the sight before him filling him with warmth. The Templar cross lay on the ground between them; the leather cord on which it had been threaded sliced cleanly through.

David pulled Sebastian into his arms until they were pressed together, warm and close. He could feel lips move on his skin as Sebastian spoke against his neck. "I choose you."


End file.
